


Eye to Eye

by puff22_2001



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 05:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14206428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puff22_2001/pseuds/puff22_2001
Summary: You know your soulmate when you see colors. Lover, family, enemy--your most important person brings colorful life to your world. But how can you be certain that it's them, when they won't look you in the naked eye?





	Eye to Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Phosphor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737866) by [BlairRabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlairRabbit/pseuds/BlairRabbit). 



It was Karla who had to explain to Hermann why he didn't see colors. At eight, the brilliant little boy wanted to know what "color" was and why everyone talked about it like it was gold and jewels. More to the point, he wanted to know why he didn’t have it.

 

Mother was ill again, and Father--Father was best avoided completely. Deitrich was the one who’d prompted Hermann’s questions, but he was currently occupied with the questions’ instigator. So Hermann had cornered his older sister, hoping that even a couple more years of experience would give her the knowledge to pass on.

 

"Color is--well," Karla said with a hesitancy Hermann rarely saw in anyone in their family, so self-assured (and oftentimes arrogant). But now Deitrich could see color, and Hermann wanted to know why. What was it and why did it happen now?

 

"Dietrich says it's really pretty." Hermann encouraged his sister with a smile. Dietrich wasn't even at home, or Hermann would have just asked him. But he was off with Sabine, his fiance, and Hermann couldn't wait.

 

He’d heard of colors, of course. But he’d never met anyone who  _ saw _ them; not even his parents. Hermann was insatiable in his curiosity, and the great mystery of “color” had plagued him since he could remember. And now, someone in his family saw them, truly.

 

"You know how some things are darker or lighter than others?" Karla said finally, playing with an edge of Hermann's star-spangled bedspread.

 

"Yeah, like your hair!"

 

"Well, different shades are actually different colors. The shades--they mean different things."

 

That meant almost nothing to Hermann. What could the shade of his hair have to do with anything? But If the different shades were different things, maybe he could work out what those things  _ were _ .

 

"But how do you know?" Herman squirmed, a toy rocket in his hands. A prodigy though he was at his age, even he couldn't fully fathom something he'd never experienced. He was only a little, often-ill boy; he was sadly not psychic.

 

"Because people who meet their soulmates see them." Karla sighed, a dreamy look on her face. "Not everyone has a romantic soulmate--some people's soulmates are family members or friends, but I want mine to be a boy."

 

"Like Dietrich and Sabine?" Hermann furrowed his brow and then smiled again, understanding dawning on his face. "Sabine is Dietrich's soulmate!"

 

"Yeah, she is. And you can almost see color the closer to your soulmate you get, but you don't get Soul Sight until you look them full in the eyes." Karla opened her own dark eyes wide as if to punctuate her point. Hermann giggled before replying.

 

"Soul Sight is colors, right?"

 

"Yeah, but you have to look them right in the eyes without glasses or anything! So a lot of people never find their soulmates."

 

"That's sad." Hermann frowned and held his rocket tighter.

 

To never meet your soulmate? The person most important to you? How could anyone live?

 

A small part of Hermann was upset that his mother wasn’t his soulmate, but the he put that thought away. If his Most Important Person wasn’t Mother, then she could still be his best friend! And Hermann had so few playmates; maybe his soulmate would be a good friend, too.

 

"It is! And you don't really see color, even when you're close to them! You just get, like, a feeling in your head or you see something in the corner of your eyes. So a lot of people say that that’s not true, that you don't really see anything until you Lock Eyes.”

 

"But people find their soulmates anyway."

 

"They do, which is why other people say that you can sense your soulmate somehow. So I'll find mine, don't worry!" And Karla smiled and patted Hermann's knee before bouncing up in a hurry.

 

"Now you go play. I've got homework and Mother says I have to finish it before I can go over to Hilda's house."

 

"OK. Thanks for explaining to me, Karla."

 

"No problem, Manny."

 

After Karla left, Hermann sat lost in thought. Karla seemed sure that she'd meet her soulmate someday. As much of a social butterfly as she was, Hermann didn't doubt it either.

 

What worried him was: would he ever meet  _ his _ ?

 

\--*--

 

It became apparent with frightening speed that Kaiju Blue fucked with the eyes. Newt wasn’t the first to figure it out, but he was the first to really confirm the hypothesis. It helped that he actually worked with the damn things. Though that also bit him in the ass, after all.

 

Soul Sight wasn’t affected, thank God. The kaiju might take lives and land, but it didn’t affect colors. Or at least that’s what people who could see colors at all said.

 

No, what Kaiju Blue did was make one color, and one color only, stand out so brightly that Pain was all anyone could call it at first. Until someone with Soul Sight finally asked the Greyscales what they actually  _ saw _ , and let them pick out the color itself. When the scientific community repeated the experiment, the results were immutable.

 

“Blue” they named it. But the lucky few with Soul Sight said it was an electric, glowing blue--nothing like the blue of the ocean or the light blue of the sky.

 

For the Greyscales with enough exposure--the ones closest to the destruction or, like Newt, worked with the remains in close quarters--all it was, was a blinding, terrible color that burned. Newt had even helped to design the aquamarine goggles that made it possible to see again, but he despaired that so few people could get them.

 

“Figure out a way to meet up soulmates, then, Brother. It’s the only thing that helps reliably.” His friend Tendo said when Newt muttered about the unfairness of life and White Liberal Guilt. “It’s not like you just up and bought a pair, Newt. You need them for your work with the monsters.”

 

“I know, I know!” Newt ran a hand through his already-wild hair as the light glinted off of his black-framed glasses, medium blue lenses thick enough for bottle-bottoms. Though Newt had to take Alexis’ word on that, since the glasses themselves were still fucking shades of grey to the erratic scientist. Figured that the  _ only _ color anyone without a soulmate could see literally blinded you after a scant few weeks.

 

“Seriously, haven’t you been working on research about soulmates anyway?”

 

“When would I have time for that, Dude?” Newt said with an edge to his voice. “I’m elbows-deep in kaiju guts, My new lab partner shows up today, and I  _ know _ who he is.”

 

“You know, he might have forgiven you by now.”

 

Newt sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose, luckily with the hand not currently coated in Kaiju Blue.

 

“No, I’m pretty sure he still hates me.” Newt turned back to his work, and his mind turned back to that terrible day.

 

\--*--

 

_ The pre-conference mixer had been a terrible idea, in retrospect. But free booze and a chance to mingle with the greatest minds working on the Kaiju Problem! Though the pounding headache and the very real danger of throwing up--again--didn’t seem to be a fair tradeoff in the light of day. _

 

_ As the elevator stopped and the doors opened, Newt nearly swerved into the man standing outside of it, clearly waiting to get on. _

 

_ “Hey, Dude! You make a nice door, but a hell of a window!” Newt snarled, the pain in his head making him even nastier than he tended to be after an all-nighter. The fact that the man was actually well out of the way of the door only increased Newt’s guilty wrath. The other man turned around, and Newt grimaced. _

 

_ Of course. _

 

_ “I beg your pardon, Doctor Geiszler. I do apologize if I impeded your ability to stumble drunkenly to breakfast.” Hermann Gottlieb sneered with a wave of his free hand towards the conference hall. Newt wanted to apologize, find a bathroom, and puke. Instead, he scoffed. _

 

_ “At least I know how to party, Dude.” Hermann scowled, his cane tapping impatiently as Newt continued to block his way. _

 

_ “We’re in the middle of a war, Doctor. I hardly think getting pissed in front of all of our colleagues is the most appropriate use of our time.” _

 

_ “I didn’t get mad, Bro, I got smashed.” Newt grinned, and only wider when Hermann scowled harder. _

 

_ “You know  _ exactly _ what I mean.” _

 

_ “Look, I can sit in my room and be bored to tears, or I can have a little fun before I die. What, I should be a grandpa like you?” _

 

_ “I don’t suppose the sunglasses are coming off, then?” Hermann asked with acid in his voice. _

 

_ “Nope!” Newt punctuated his point by pushing them further up. That he pinched his nose in the process hardly mattered, of course. “They’re prescription  _ and _ hella tight.” _

 

_ “Do you ever take  _ anything _ seriously?” He might not be able to see color--or much of anything, really, with the sunglasses on in the dim light of the hotel--but Newt could tell that Hermann was getting sincerely angry. Pissed, if you will. _

 

_ Newt  _ knew _ he should let it go and apologize. He knew, from dozens of emails and Skypes, that when Hermann was truly angry it was best to back away. _

 

_ But Newt’s head hurt like a bitch and the fucking sunglasses barely helped. And  _ apparently _ being hungover on cheap synthetic vodka messed with his eyesight worse than usual. What the fuck  _ was _ that at the edges of his viewpoint there? _

 

_ “Look, Dude, I like fun. I like to forget sometimes that the world is coming to an end. We can’t all be goddamn robots!” _

 

_ Newt knew he’d fucked up royally even before Hermann grew dark (humans went “red” when they were mad, people with Soul Sight said). Hermann  _ hated _ being compared to animals or robots or anything like that. Newt often wondered if Hermann’s leg or maybe a disorder was the cause. Or maybe, like Newt, a lifetime of ridicule had left Hermann scarred where even Soul Sight couldn’t see. _

 

_ Regardless, Hermann looked about ready to cry or scream. Maybe both. _

 

_ All he did, however, was spit out, “Don’t contact me again.” and walk away towards the other bank of elevators at the end of the hall. _

 

_ “Well, fuck.” _

 

\--*--

 

“He’s going to have to forgive you if you’re labmates.” Tendo said reasonably.

 

Newt laughed without humor. “He’s barely tolerated me since, Tendo. I don’t think being stuck in a room with me ten-plus hours a day is going to help.”

 

“Well, at least he can’t shoot you.”

 

“Until he sees the whites of my eyes.” Newt finally actually laughed and tapped his blue-hued glasses. That had to be a comfort.

 

\--*--

 

Hermann had eventually forgiven Newt, though he refrained from telling the man until a few weeks after they became labmates. It wouldn’t do to let Newt think he’d forgotten his hurtful comments, even if Hermann just wanted to be friends again.

 

Because he  _ did _ want to be friends. Newt was the only one who understood Hermann. His siblings loved him and his mother doted on him--the less said about his father, the better--but it wasn’t the same. He had such passionate exchanges with Newt before that disastrous meeting!

 

And then he’d let his pride destroy it all. It wasn’t that he was too sensitive. He’d just hoped (naively, perhaps) that Newt would be the one to see that Hermann wasn’t some unfeeling monster. That Hermann bled and hurt like anyone.

 

Newt, most of all, should have known how much Hermann wanted a friend and a purpose. Hermann wanted a  _ soulmate _ and he had hoped that Newt might be the one.

 

But if their interactions in the lab were any indication, they were  _ not _ the good kind of soulmates.

 

“Not on my side of the room! I’ve told you a thousand times!” Hermann snarled as he kicked the entrails back over the line bisecting the lab floor. Newt shrugged.

 

“Look, I can’t always be wasting time running over to the waste containers.”

 

“Then move them closer!”

 

“Then I’d block my instruments. Use that delightful pink walnut of yours, Herms.”

 

Hermann pursed his lips and breathed through his nose. Newt looked at him expectantly, but Hermann let a huff go before turning back to his chalkboards.

 

“No comeback, Herms? No witty one-liner?” Did Newt sound--disappointed? No, not in the slightest. Hermann knew it was all hopeless.

 

“I’ve work to do.”

 

As he scribbled equations, hands on autopilot, Hermann wondered if it was all in his head. But the things he’d seen, that day . . . 

 

\--*--

 

_ Hermann stood stiffly, waiting for the elevator. The hard hotel bed had aggravated his leg and he’d heard all about Newt’s antics at breakfast. The tittering annoyed him on Newt’s behalf, even as Hermann wound up to lecture Newt himself. _

 

_ Though first he’d properly introduce himself. Hermann’s flight had been late, and so he’d been much too tired for the mixer, though he would have liked to have met Newt in more casual environs. He was meeting his friend and penpal for the first time; it would be terribly awkward to meet him mingling with the other great thinkers of their age. _

 

_ And then a man had stumbled into him. The voice that accompanied the body made Hermann tense up. _

 

_ As did the  _ things _ happening to his vision. _

 

_ ““Hey, Dude! You make a nice door, but a hell of a window!” Newt snarled as Hermann turned around. The shock of meeting Newt in this way was only matched by the sparkles at the edge of Hermann’s eyesight. _

 

_ But it wasn’t sparkles, not really. It was just something he’d never experienced--until he’d hopped on the plane to the conference. And he’d never even noticed them consciously until that very moment. _

 

_ ‘Are those  _ colors _?’ Hermann thought wildly. _

 

_ Had he found his soulmate? Was Newt the one? But there were so many people here! It could be anyone! In the lobby alone stood dozens of people, milling about outside of the main conference hall. _

 

_ As they argued, Hermann’s mind reeling, he tried to reign in his emotions. But being so close to Newt, without the filters of time and spellcheck and the ability to end the contact, made Hermann’s already fragile mood darken and twist. _

 

_ Even if Newt was his soulmate, he could still be Hermann’s enemy. But he’d never know either way until he looked the shorter man in the naked eye. _

 

_ “I don’t suppose the sunglasses are coming off, then?” Hermann asked, as casually as he could. He heard the edge in his own voice and winced. But he had to  _ know _. _

 

_ “Nope!” Newt punctuated his point by pushing them further up. Hermann howled inside at the missed chance. The temptation to rip them off Newt’s head himself grew stronger by the second. “They’re prescription  _ and _ hella tight.” _

 

_ “Do you ever take  _ anything _ seriously?” _

 

_ And then Newt broke his heart. It wasn’t the insult, not really. It was the absolute venom in Newt’s voice. The sheer disgust that inexplicably--and yet so reasonably--dimmed the concepts dancing in Hermann’s vision. Hermann had never hated the grey so much before. _

 

_ If Newt was his soulmate, he couldn’t possibly be his future partner--or even a friend. And Hermann couldn’t bear to know, with perfect certainty, that his best friend was really his mortal enemy. _

 

_ Colors weren’t worth that. _

 

_ “Don’t contact me again.” _

 

\--*--

 

Hermann had no desire to search out his soulmate after that conference. But then Newt had emailed him, trying so hard to apologize.

 

Hermann replied, against his better judgement and hurt feelings. He’d almost not responded, if only to bring home the point that “don’t contact me” generally meant just that.

 

But he missed Newt. He missed their talks late at night when one or the other was unable to sleep. He missed how Newt ruffled his hair when most excited or upset, his head popping out of the frame on their Skype calls. He even missed their fights--the ones that made them better than before, the ones without malice but with real inspiration.

 

He missed Newt and he replied.

 

And then he’d begun to wonder, again, if Newt had been the one to set off such beautiful sights that day. Because, as the war dragged on and humanity fought for their survival, Hermann began to think that having a great  _ human _ enemy--even at the cost of losing his dearest friend--might be comforting in some twisted way.

 

He wanted the colors, damn it. He wanted “blue” and “brown.” Hermann wanted “green” and “yellow.” He wanted to know what color Newt’s eyes were. He wanted to be able to name all the colors he  _ knew _ were dancing up and down Newt’s arms like grey banners against fear.

 

He wanted Newt, no matter what he was to Hermann.

 

He wanted the colors that meant “Newt.”

 

\--*--

 

When Hermann found Newt after his ill-fated drift with the kaiju brain, He rushed to the smaller man’s side. Dark grey blood dripped from his nose, and his grey (“blue,” Hermann remembered belatedly) glasses had fallen to the floor. Newt sat shaking and mumbling, his eyes shut tight and watering. Hermann lamented the lost chance for a split second before grabbing Newt and holding him close.

 

“The Masters--the kaiju! They’re here to exterminate us, Hermann!” Newt said, eyes still shut as Hermann led him to a chair. Newt whimpered and Hermann felt it tear through his heart.

 

He drew a glass of water from the sink nearby and handed it to the traumatized biologist, guiding Newt’s shaking hand to the smooth glass. Then he went back, picked up Newt’s glasses, and gently placed them on Newt’s head, careful not to pinch Newt’s nose. Newt still didn’t open his eyes.

 

“My eyes, Hermann! It was so bright. So fucking bright! I can still  _ see _ it!”

 

“I’ll get the marshall, Newt. I’ll-I’ll bring help.”

 

When the Marshall sent Newt on his suicide mission, Hermann fretted in LOCCENT with Tendo until he couldn’t stand it and Humanity’s Last Stand seemed completely futile. The most base, selfish part of him wanted Newt to live for Hermann’s own sake.

 

Newt was his soulmate. Hermann knew it in his bones. He knew it in the fleeting glimpses he’d caught of something he couldn’t name at the edges of his vision and in his dreams. And if Newt died, Hermann would never fully know color.

 

But more than anything, if Newt died, he’d be gone. Newt would never get to grow old or eat another bag of terrible crisps or see the new adaptations of his favorite shows. Newt--beautiful, brash, wild Newt--deserved to  _ live _ .

 

Hermann made his way to the helipad.

 

\--*--

 

Drifting was lovely pain. The colors he’d been denied! Was that really the color of Newt’s eyes--that agonizing, gorgeous green?

 

_ Hermann knew green. _ It didn’t make any sense! How did he know that Newt’s eyes were the same color of grass in the fall? How did he know that Newt’s hair was a dark brown, wild as the wind-stripped trees that bordered the sea?

 

Everything was blue, but beneath that painful blue, he knew  _ colors _ . He knew  _ green _ .

 

And then the kaiju brain took over.

 

\--*--

 

When all was said and done and the war clock stopped, Hermann found Newt sitting on the lab couch. In his hands were his glasses, now cracked and bent. Newt looked up wearily when Hermann limped in. A moment passed before either spoke.

 

“Hey.”

 

Hermann sat down next to Newt and stretched out his legs. He’d feel the pain soon enough, but for now adrenaline and happiness dulled the ache.

 

“Your eyes are as beautiful as I suspected.”

 

“I still can’t see for shit, though.” Newt laughed and handed the glasses to Hermann. He took them reverently. “I wish I’d brought my old ones, from before the Kaiju blue fucked me up.”

 

“You couldn’t have known that drifting with your soulmate would make the Kaiju Blue insignificant.” Hermann said softly as he turned the now-useless glasses about. They were ruined, but they were such a beautiful shade of blue.

 

“I guess no one else affected by Kaiju Blue would have ever been healthy enough to Drift.”

 

“You weren’t healthy enough, either, you know.” Hermann gently bumped his shoulder into Newt’s and turned to face him, reproach etched into every tired line. “I could have lost you before I even knew for sure.”

 

“How long did you think it was me?” Newt asked, gazing back. Those eyes, unfocused and so lovely. Those bright  _ green _ eyes . . . 

 

“Since we met at the conference. I had hoped, before, but then--”

 

“I guess your sister was right about the “things” you see.” Newt said, the shared memory rising to his mind. Hermann slowly took Newt’s hand, still holding the glasses in the other.

 

“How long have you wanted it to be me?” Hermann asked. Newt smiled wearily.

 

“Pretty much since we met. I didn’t think it was, though. Not after I put my foot in my mouth.”

 

“Your hangover didn’t help your perception of the situation. I know that now.”

 

“I’d never seen color. How was I supposed to know what that stuff  _ was _ ?”

 

Hermann laughed at Newt’s pouty tone. They’d have to report to the medical bay soon or Marshall Hansen would likely drag them there himself.

 

But for now they could rest. Hermann tried desperately to keep his eyes open. To drink in all the colors around him. To drink in Newt in all his colored glory.

 

“I love you, Newt.”

 

“I love you too, Herms.” Newt yawned and closed his eyes. Hermann lamented the loss until he remembered that he had colors now. Forever with Newt. “You have really pretty eyes, too, Herms.”

 

“What color are they?” Hermann asked before he took pity on Newt and let him sleep.

 

“Brown. I like brown. It might be my favorite color.”

 

Hermann held Newt’s hand and smiled. He kissed Newt’s hair, never minding the dirt.

 

“My favorite color is all of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story in 2016 when I read BlairRabbit’s _Vow of Silence_ , which I took to be a companion to their earlier work _Phospor_. I was inspired to think of a relatively fresh take on the standard “soulmates” trope. I originally wanted to try and do something with music, and I still may, but my mother’s love of art and colors further inspired me to focus on visual cues. From there, I’ve been working on-and-off on this for the last two years.
> 
> I’m still working, honestly. There’s a lot that I’d like to do; add more scenes, create better transitions between Hermann and Newt, and work on a more cohesive plot. At the moment, I consider this more of a “sprinting” kind of fanfic, and I’m not completely satisfied.
> 
> However, with the release of _Pacific Rim: Uprising_ and the reemergence of the _Pacific Rim_ fandom, I thought that no time was better to dust off the old opus-in-abstract. I can always edit as time goes by, and I’d rather have it out there for critique than sitting in my drafts forever. It has a definitive plot, so at least that’s something.
> 
> On that note, feedback is much appreciated! I love concepts and ideas. The _Pacific Rim_ fandom has been so good to me over the years, and I love to please. I’m newmann trash forever at this point.  <3


End file.
